Tulle is a Weighty Passion

Fabric is a strange animal. It can crease in all the wrong places, feel like pissed-on cardboard, and smell like mothballs, or it can drape and cinch and seduce your skin with textures and patterns you never knew you loved. Sometimes, I hate tulle. That wispy, good-for-nothing fairytale of a fabric, embodying my best memories of dressing up as Glinda the Good Witch when I was seven years old.

Lately, and by lately I mean in the past two years, I’ve had a strange fascination with this one dress, tea-length, with a full tulle skirt flaring out from a satiny dropped waist. I wanted it for my graduation dress, but I would have had to order it from overseas and that’s just a little too much of a gamble for a cynic like me.

I have a shortcut to this dress in my bookmarks bar. When I feel stressed out, unhappy, or just fed up with the world, I click on the link and take in all the soft, sweet curves of this dress. Everything about it, the suggested shoes included, make me sigh with the perfection of some things on this earth.

So here. Have a little taste of tulle perfection. (click on the picture to see the rest of it)

Look at this. Ignore the petulant look on the model's face and just drink in the quiet, understated beauty of this garment.

Look at this. Ignore the petulant look on the model’s face and just drink in the quiet, understated beauty of this garment.

I think it’s like cars for some people.

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Tea Time

Swandive

It’s four o’clock, and all the creatures of the other world want their tea.
Billowing skirts, rustling leaves, beating wings all reaching for a sweet bite, a sip of steeped tea leaves, and perhaps a softly boiled egg.

© Emily Bragg 2013

nighttime mindwanders

there’s a time in cool hours of dark
where time doesn’t stop, but suspends
oil in water, hovering
and the mind takes a quiet walk across the lawn
never stopping, ever padding ever so
quiet
whispering technicolour switchback stories
gathering a handful of violets, a nest
of infant shale birds
quiet
as the stars hide coy behind flared
cirrostratus geisha fans
eyes twinkling
and the soft-furred rabbits skitter across moon-drenched grass.

© Emily Bragg 2013